


Are We Having Fun Yet?

by AlexisJane



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Past Underage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-16
Updated: 2013-11-16
Packaged: 2018-01-01 18:10:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1047001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexisJane/pseuds/AlexisJane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My first fic...terrifying.</p>
<p>Written as a sorta sequel to the amazing ash_carpenter's Distraction</p>
<p>Just so you know - If you don't like Wincest or a bit of the rough stuff, read something else.<br/>My house. My rules. My boys : )</p>
<p>Feedback is both feared and loved, so bring it x</p>
            </blockquote>





	Are We Having Fun Yet?

** [Over on Livejournal](http://alexisjane.livejournal.com/865.html)  
**

** Are We Having Fun Yet?  **

  
  
Dean's eyes rolled up to the ceiling and closed, his head lolling back to rest on the smeary tiles of the restroom wall, oblivious to the grime grinding into his hair. His tongue dipped out wetting his lower lip before his teeth scraped across it as he hissed air in through them.  
  
 _What a difference a year makes._  
  
The weirdest thoughts would pop into his head at these moments. He often wonder if this was what hell was like. And which one of the seven circles it was. Because that's what it felt like, going round and round, struggling to break free but always ending up in the same place, invariable like this. Backed up against a stinking bathroom wall, bracing his arms between a sink and whatever else he could grab hold of that could take his weight, trying to keep his legs from buckling while his beautiful brother knelt in the filth and piss, sucking his cock with the quick practiced motions of his tongue guaranteed to get him from hard to coming in the shortest time possible. The thrill of potentially getting caught was all well and good but the reality of their father finding them like this could kill them both. Sam knew when to make it snappy.  
  
Dean let slip a moan and instantly cursed himself, not for making a noise that could draw attention from anyone outside but for the way he felt Sam's lips tightening, attempting to curl into a smile around his thick cock. Dean looked down, his chest hitching with sharp intakes of breath, past his rucked up tee and shirt, and saw Sam's dark eyes gleaming up at him from under the bangs jostling on his forehead as he pulled his head back and forth.  
  
He took Dean's breath away.  
Even like this. Stale piss and god-knows what soaking into the knees of his jeans, spit collecting on the hand holding the base of Dean's cock from the slick film dribbling down his chin while the other hand pumped his own rock hard dick, pre-come oozing out to lubricate the rough rhythmless motion. The sight of him like this alone had been enough to make Dean come apart more than once.  
  
They watched each other, fighting to hold each others gaze as Dean struggled to stay upright, the heat growing in waves, spreading over his body, threatening to floor him. This just felt so good he couldn't contain himself and let out a stifled cry. It was always a mistake to look Sammy in the eye.  
It was easier to forget that he was fucking his brother when Sam was face down on the backseat of the Impala or in the pitch black of some backwoods cabin while Dad was passed out cold with a empty bottle of JD in his hand. More importantly, it made it easier to forget that it was Sam, and only Sam, that could make him feel this way anymore.  
  
 _The first time wasn't exactly an accident, wasn't exactly something Dean had planned either. It wasn't the first time that John had come home drunk from a hunt gone wrong and beaten the crap out of the both of them. But it was the first time after Sam had gotten wasted and graphically confessed that Dean had always been his go-to sexual fantasy, that they'd both ended up hurt and fragile on a motel floor. It was the first time that Dean had twisted his need to comfort and protect his little brother into a need to hold him down and fuck him in the ass. But it sure as hell wasn't the last._  
  
The pang of guilt that had started to form at the back of his mind as soon as Sam's hand had appeared on his chest, pushing him backward across the truck stop restroom before the door had even swung shut, started to worm it's way up to the surface. It would have broken through. Through the white hot intensity every time Sam's tongue hit his sweet spot, the wet, repetitive sounds of his mouth syncopating with Dean's panting, spikes of pleasure surging up and up, damn near blinding him. It could have sneaked a dose of reality into what he was doing but a unexpected "OhfuckyeahSammy!" whispered out of his lips before he could stop it and Sam couldn't help but smirk. And wink. It was the wink that did it.  
  
 _After that first time, once they had picked each other up off the floor, the afterglow of coming so hard and completely fading and only the dull aches and sharp flashes of the damage their father had done kicked back in, did Dean fully realise what he had done. All he ever wanted, had ever needed to do was to protect Sam, keep him safe from all the monsters out there. And now he was the monster._

_  
Yes, he knew Sam had wanted him, thought about fucking him, getting fucked by him, all the sucking, licking, biting, fucked up stuff that came spilling out of his mouth when the weed had loosened his brain and that amazing tongue of his, but that didn't reassure him that Sam wanted that, had wanted to be held down and fucked through the floor, lose his virginity gasping in the filthy dust and crap from a motel carpet._

  
But even then, with the guilt and the doubt, the memory of dragging Sam's panicking body back under him as he struggled to get away, pushing his fingers inside him, coming inside him until he was empty...Christ, it made him harder than any stripper or bar bimbo ever had.  
Even twenty minutes afterwards, standing in the shower, arms braced under the flow of water so it could run over the back of his neck and down to the welts appearing red from the leather strap that had been John's punishment of choice that evening, spitting bloody mouthfuls of water to try and soothe his swollen lip, tentatively moving his jaw around, not imagining John's punch broke it but knowing it would hurt a hell of a lot more tomorrow, crying silently from the crushing weight of what he had just done. Man-handling his hurt little brother, telling him to be quiet, not listening when he told him 'no', pressing himself onto him, into him, the whole fucking absolute wrongness of it all. Through all the physical and psychological pain of what had happened and what he'd done, goddammit if the blood wasn't rushing to his dick, filling him up and making him hard all over again.

__  
Because Sammy had _kissed him back, he_ had _let him flip him face down on the carpet and_ had _pressed his ass back down onto Dean's cock over and over. And the memory seared into his mind of the oh so sweet desperation as he begged “Dean, please...Dean, I need...” had him crying out and coming, his cock pulsing hard-fought dribbles from his empty balls over his fist moments later.  Because that was the kind of brother he was._  
  
 -----------------------------------

As soon as he'd done it he knew he would probably regret it. It's just that Dean was just so serious about the whole thing all the time. Everything else seemed to be a joke to him. He could happily stand around a pile of burning bodies, wiping his machete clean, grinning and cracking jokes but the moment Sam touched him, that earnest look took him over. Even when Dean initiated things, he never seem to want to find any fun in it, pleasure yes but god forbid he should smile while they fucked. Sam craved that smile, those lips parting slightly, moist and red on the cusp of that fuckable mouth.

Which just made Sam try so much harder to get him to cry out, moan, anything.

Although of course he really knew he was hitting the spot when he heard "fuckyeahsammy". More than once the words had tipped him over the edge too soon, coming hard and unexpected. At eighteen he'd gained a bit more control over his youthful hair-trigger but those words still meant the beginning of the end. But it usually meant that Dean was close too and if there was one thing guaranteed to get either of them off, it was seeing, or feeling, their brother coming.  
Kneeling there, his knees starting to bruise on the hard tile floor, his hand moving frantically on his cock, scraping the knuckle of his little finger on the barely opened zipper, looking up at Dean's quivering body, watching him gasp and bite his lip, staring into those green eyes moist with tears, Sam couldn't imagine being anywhere else, wanting anything else in the world. Touching Dean, tasting him, had become the best thing in his life, maybe the only good thing in his life. So actually seeing that pouty mouth open and let those magic words spill out, he did the only thing he could think of to wipe those mushy thoughts out of his head. He winked.

_Their first time, the night John had bruised his face and ribs and Dean had fucked him senseless, wasn't exactly how he'd imagined it would be. When he'd smoked that stupid joint that had started this whole merry-go-round, lying back against the wheel of the impala, giggling one minute at Dean's stupid story of him fucking some girl, confessing to wanting Dean inside him the next, all the sordid crap that he thought about every night as he rustled under the covers had come flooding out. So Dean knew all about the thoughts of tender touches and hand-holding that went along with the skin on skin, wet, sweating, searing, burning desires. Sam just knew after that first time that it could never be that way._  
In the first few months afterwards, he'd tried a few times to get Dean to accept a bit of tenderness  but he'd always brush it off, walking away or more often kissing Sam so hard on his mouth that it bled and grabbing his ass so hard it left finger bruises on his cheeks. He knew that Dean felt guilty about fucking him. But hey, he felt guilty about pretty much everything so it didn't worry Sam too much. Besides he knew too that Dean wanted him, wanted what they had, as much as he did.  
But something had changed. He wasn't sure if it was something that had changed between them or whether after months of stolen moments, rough fucking up against a wall, a tree, quick hand-jobs in the back of the Impala, whatever, whenever they could steal away from John long enough to get off, he had just grown out of those childish wet dreams.  
So when they started to creep into his mind, they somehow made him feel more disgusted than scrabbling around in filth, urgently sucking his brother's dick and jerking himself off before they got caught.

So he winked.

It had the desired effect. Well, maybe not desired. Sam saw the change come over Dean's face and braced himself. The dewy green eyes seemed to harden and narrow, then Dean's hands let go of the bathroom furniture and grabbed onto Sam's head, one bunching into the slightly longer hair on the top of his head and the other, palm pressing onto his ear as the fingers needled into the back of his neck. Sam instinctively let go of Dean's cock, bracing this forearm against his brother's hip to try and minimise what was coming. Which turned out to be him. The sound of Dean losing it above him, thrusting as hard as he could into Sam's mouth, as he tried so hard not to gag at the size and depth of him was a momentary distraction. Tears fell over his cheeks as he squeezed his eyes closed tight but feeling Dean's cock pulsing and then pumping what felt like gallons of bitter thick liquid onto the back of his throat and Dean's voice shouting "Yes, fuck..!" sounding so loud in the empty room was enough. Sam's whole body convulsed as he swallowed Dean in, his balls contracted and spasmed his own cum onto the wall between Dean's feet, making his boots squeak on the tiles beneath him as he shuddered. And it was all over.

_There had been a moment about five or six months after they had first started fucking that John had left them alone in motel room paid up for a week while he went off to hunt something particularly nasty with Bobby, when Dean knew the dream he'd had for Sam, for himself, for a life somewhere near normal was all over for both of them._  
The months before had been fraught. Sam seemed insatiable at times, choosing the most inopportune moments to try and kiss him or letting his hand linger on his shoulder just a little too long for comfort. Dean was terrified that John might start to notice the lingering looks or excessive brotherly touching. If he was willing to beat them over nothing, what the hell would he be capable of if he discovered what they got up to when he was passed out in the next room.  
John had never apologised for beating the boys. Drunk or sober, violence had just become a parenting tool for him. He knew it wasn't right. He knew Mary would never have understood. He didn't need Bobby's constant criticism or Jim's condescension to tell him he should treat the boys more gently. They were still just boys after all.  
But something had happened that night. Seeing Dean, shielding himself, bloody and whipped, crawling to defend Sam, broken, bruised with cheeks wet with tears. Knowing that it was by his hand. And over a beer that he didn't even want. He didn't think he could feel anymore disgusted with himself but somehow that broke through and made him feel a whole new level of low.  
He resolved to be a little gentler, try not to be so harsh, be sober a little more often. And he was, for a while at least. The change in him was less than comforting though.  
Dean was convinced that he knew something. It was hard to keep secrets in a family of hunters who spent all day, everyday finding out other peoples secrets. Especially when your little brother would lean over your shoulder to look at some research, pressing his body against you just so you could feel the hard shape in the crotch of his jeans or would make a point of looking him in the eye whenever he put anything in his mouth. Which made the times when it was safe to be together all the more frantic and desperate.  
By the time they got to be alone, Dean would be frenzied with lust, barely able to do anything other than just grab Sam and fuck out all the frustration that had built up over the days since their last frenzied moments. He still went out, trolling the bars of whatever backwater town they ended up in, looking for willing girls to throw John's suspicions off the scent but after a couple of humiliating encounters where his cock lay flaccid on the thigh of a increasingly frustrated girl until he turned her over and pretended it was his brother lying there, silently mouthing 'Sammy' into her hair until he got hard enough to fuck her, he decided he couldn't face it anymore.

_So when they heard the roar of the Impala pulling away, knowing they wouldn't hear it again for days, relief flooded over Dean and all he wanted was to crawl into bed with Sam and hold their naked bodies together for as long as he would allow it. But he was still too hot, too wound up from the days of solo wanking and cock teasing to deal with Sam's rejection._  
He had reached out tenderly to caress Sam's jaw and been shocked when Sam had laughed and slapped his hand away. It might have been okay if if Sam hadn't had that glint in his eye,  
"Seriously, dude? You can do me better than that. Or can you only get it up if you think the old man is watching?"  
It wasn't so much the words that hurt Dean to his core or the mocking laugh, it was the way Sam unbuckled his belt as his walked towards the kitchenette and used his thumb to pull his jeans down just enough to reveal the crack of his ass as he bent forward and braced himself on the table.  
How did we get here?  
 _The guilt that plagued him daily took on a whole new dimension now. What had started out as a mutual need for comfort, for love, that Sam had felt and awoken in Dean, something that should have been tender and absolute had become this. Base, animal,_  
Sordid  
 _Dean could feel his heart tearing, ready to break apart and flood his psyche with a whole new level of guilt and shame for doing this to Sam, forcing him into this life where care and comfort meant weakness and disgust. Maybe there was a chance. It wouldn't have been the first time Dean had persuaded him to do something he didn't really want to do. Maybe he could drag him back under him, weigh down on and make him go slow, be sweet and soft and loving again. But then Sam looked back over his shoulder, breathing shallow and expectant, his ass slightly swaying, his eyes gleaming. And winked._  
And Dean knew it was over.  
He felt a familiar rage rise in his belly equal to the pressure of the blood filling his cock, and in the five strides it took to close the distance between the door and Sam's ass, both were free and ready to give Sam exactly what he wanted. Over the next five days, he had learnt that what Sam needed wasn't something he could ever reconcile with the sweet face and gentle nature he showed the rest of the world . And he gave it to him. Willingly. Over and over. Because that was the kind of brother he was.

Sam pushed Dean back against the wall, dropping his hand down to stop him from falling face down on the bathroom floor as his big brother's softening cock slipped out from between his lips.  
"You okay Sammy?"  
Dean's tone was all concern but his hands still had hold of Sam's neck and hair. Sam pushed his arms up and out raggedly breaking Dean's hold, turning his head to spit out a gob of spit and cum onto the floor next to him. He turned his face upward, grinning.  
"You know, you keep pulling my hair like that, I may never cut it again"  
Dean grunted out a laugh and buttoned his jeans.  
"Pervert!"  
Dean reached down and took Sam roughly by the sleeves dragging him up onto his stiff, cramping legs and brushed him down, like he always did. Sam zipped his jeans and put up with the fussing, like he always did, until Dean's hand cupped his jaw, his thumb wiping away the trail of cold tears held in the fine stubble on his chin. For a moment their eyes met, and everything they had always wanted was right there. Just for a moment. But they both knew what came next.  
Sam turned abruptly away, leaving Dean's fingers to linger in the void that he left behind as he walked stiffly towards the door they had entered only minutes before.  
"Come on. We don't want to be late back with the supplies if we want to get out of training tomorrow"  
Sam didn't bother to turn back for an answer. He had seen what was happening a hundred times before and couldn't face seeing it again. Dean standing there, that broken expression flashing over his face, all his regret and guilt poured into one perfect tear involuntarily rolling down his cheek until he rubbed a hand over his face, wiping away the pain and wetness in one deft motion.  
"Bitch"  
Sam smiled and pushed open the door, relishing the relatively clean diesel and exhaust filled air hitting his lungs.  
"Jerk"  
And just like that, they were brothers again, back on the carousel, ready to start the journey back around and round, neither one ready or willing to break the cycle.  
And praying every step of the way that nobody broke it for them.


End file.
